Damn Regret
by MissF.A.T
Summary: This is a rewrite of a fanfiction I wrote back in middle school. It features a girl by the name of Kim who falls in love with notorious mass murderer, Michael Myers. He seems to harbor the same feelings, but his bloodlust may forever keep them apart.


First of all, it should be noted that there are scenes of sexual nature in this. There are no actual sex scenes, but there are scenes with sexually suggestive material. Aside from that, there is cursing and some minor murder scenes. This is the rewrite of a Michael Myers fanfic I wrote back in middle school.

1

_I really don't know how to start this thing out. Well, other than the obvious; when it all started._

My psychiatrist told me that I should write down my thoughts – keep a journal, or a diary. Jill Elridge, the head nurse, says I should write a book about what happened. I don't think she's joking or poking fun. If it would have come from one of the other nurses, I'd have never given it a second thought. Most of the nurses there treat all the patients like they're retarded. Some of them really are, most of us aren't. But Jill is one of the only nurses there that have ever been nice to me.

So, I came home after my appointment and stared at the typewriter for the longest time. It's amazing how scary the damn thing looked. I couldn't do it, not yet.

After I put Gracey to bed, though, I got out a glass and a bottle of wine. I told myself it was to calm my nerves, but I knew it was because alcohol would be the only thing to steel my mind up enough to go back in time.

I live in a small apartment; a living room, a kitchen, and a small bathroom. The living room serves as my bedroom. I have a big bed at one end of the room, where Gracey and I sleep. There's a small TV in one corner with a VCR, but no cable. We have no stove, only a microwave and a hotplate.

I sat down on the bed next to Gracey, who was now asleep, and picked up a book. I didn't read it, though. I kept taking sips of the wine and glancing at the typewriter. After around four glasses, the typewriter wasn't so scary anymore. In fact, it was starting to look inviting. Finally, halfway through my fifth glass, I shuffled over to the desk that my typewriter sat on and took a seat.

So, now, here I sit. The white paper is glaring at me, daring me to fill it. My glass is to the right of the typewriter, and the bottle is next to that.

I guess I should stop my rambling and start the story; but where? I guess it makes sense to begin at the beginning. Kinda redundant, but you need to know how I met Michael so you can understand the rest. I had just turned eight when I moved to Haddonfield, Illinois. That means Michael would have been nine. That was the year everything would go wrong. But that was a while later. That happened in October, but I moved into the house next to him that May.

2

'_Come on, Kim, let's check out the rest of the house!_' demanded Teddy.

"Teddy, Momma said not to mess up anything," I replied.

'_She said not to mess nothing up. She didn't say don't go esploring,_' Teddy pressed. I bit my lower lip and stared at the teddy bear. Teddy was a black, stuffed teddy bear. He was in notoriously good shape, especially seeing as I was only eight years old. A small bit of his ear was gone and he had a mysterious stain that flattened a small patch of fake fur on his back, but that was the extent of his wear.

"Fine." I grabbed the bear off of the floor and trotted out of the empty room. The house was giant from my perspective. It was two stories, with three bedrooms. None of them would be mine, though. Neither would either of the two bathrooms. I got the basement, which was unnaturally tiny. It had enough room for my roll-out cot on the floor and that was about it. My clothes would be kept in the two baskets Momma gave me, and that took up about all of the left side of my cot. At the end was the door to the tiny bathroom, which had a toilet, a grimy shower, and a sink that was so high that I had to stand on tiptoes to reach the knobs and faucet. To the right of my cot was about enough room for a second one – not that I had one – and then the stairs that led up to the kitchen.

Technically, I was suppose to sleep down in the basement the night before, but it was scary at night. Instead, I curled up on the floor in one of the second-floor bedrooms and slept there with Teddy. What Momma didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and what she did know would most likely end up hurting me.

'_Wanna look at the basement again?_' asked Teddy.

"Nuh-uh, I don't like it there. It's creepy," I replied. I scampered down the stairs and paused at the bottom, looking around in wonder. After a moment, I galloped across the hallway and burst through the front door.

I liked it best when Momma wasn't home, although I would have never admitted it out loud. I could play and run and jump and dance and do whatever when Momma wasn't home. But when Momma was home, I suddenly felt like a grownup. I had to make dinner, do dishes, clean, get the bathwater ready for Momma, make sure Momma's bed was made, have a glass of wine ready for when she would go in her room and read before she went to bed, and fetch her anything her heart desired. If it wasn't for the fact that I couldn't drive, I was sure she would have me out running errands, too.

So, it was with a light heart that I leaped off of the front porch steps and landed on the concrete walkway. The screen door sounded like a gunshot when it slammed shut behind me, but I didn't have to care right now. I ran over to the only tree in the front yard and looked up at it, sticking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth. I shoved Teddy in the space between my overalls and my shirt and started to shimmy up the trunk. By the time I got to the branch I wanted, I was starting to pant. I sat cross-legged in the dip between two branches and peered across the street.

Diagonal from me, an elderly woman was puttering around her yard. She had on a flowery dress and a straw sunhat. She knelt down in front of her flower bed and began pulling weeds. I watched her at this for several minutes. Finally, she stood up and turned around, pulling off her dirty gloves. She put a hand on her hip and sighed. She looked around the street in boredom, then spotted me.

"Hey, you, what do you think you're doing up there?" I jumped and clawed at the tree as I teetered precariously for a moment. My heart was pounding in my ears now, and my throat started getting dry. "You should get down before you hurt yourself!" I did as I was told, quickly sliding down from the tree. I came away with a scraped up knee, but I didn't pay much attention to it. The old lady was shambling across the street and over to me. I took a step back and found myself pressed against the tree. I hoped she would leave before Momma got home. Momma didn't like unexpected visitors. I pulled Teddy from his safe spot and hugged him. "What are you doing over here, anyway? Don't you know that house is empty?"

"Momma buyed it," I replied.

'_I don't like this lady, your momma won't like it if she sees her talking to you_,' said Teddy. Silently, I agreed with Teddy.

"Ohh, so you're the little girl who lives here now? I heard some people down at Tom's grocery store talking about someone moving in..." She trailed off for a moment. She seemed to suddenly notice my knee. She made a noise that sounded like '_tut-tut_.' "Come over to my yard, I'll fix your knee up." I raised an eyebrow and slowly followed her over to her yard. I sat down on the stairs and waited as she tottered into the house.

I let out a little scream and nearly fell off the steps as the screen door to the old woman's house slammed open with a noise that sounded like cannon fire. I leaped to my feet and spun around to find a laughing boy on the front porch. I hugged Teddy to my chest and glared at the boy, my legs trembling slightly. He was tall for his age, and had blond hair to his shoulders. His eyes were large and an extreme dark brown.

"Whatcha do that for?" I yelled. He shrugged, his grin fading slightly.

"I was just playin," he replied.

"It wasn't funny!" I said hotly. He grinned again.

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Michael, are you tormenting this poor girl?" asked the old woman with a motherly smile as she reappeared. The boy gave me another glance, before looking up at the old woman.

"I was just playin," he repeated.

"He was being mean! He scared me!" He gave me an angry look. I stuck my tongue out at him as the old woman looked down at him.

"Play nice, Michael," she scolded. "Now, come here, dear. Let me see your knee." She sat down on the top step and looked at me expectantly. I stood on the bottom step and put my foot up on the step above me. She leaned over at wiped my knee gently with a warm washrag that she had in her right hand. Only one corner of the rag was wet; the rest was still dry. With the dry part, she dried my knee. Then, she pulled the paper off of a Band-Aide and pressed it over the fresh wound. "There you go, all better."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked. The boy she had called Michael watched with interest.

"Kim. Kim Evers," I replied. She nodded slowly.

"Where's your mother?" I didn't look at her; instead, I watched a butterfly land on a nearby red flower.

"She's at my old house, getting more boxes."

"And she left you here all by yourself?" said the old woman. I nodded, glancing at her. She frowned with concern. "Well, you can play with Michael until she gets home, if you like." I looked at the boy and scowled. The old woman laughed and slowly stood. "I'm baking cookies, you can have some and some lemonade when they're done." I grinned.

"Okay," I said. She gave me a knowing look and disappeared into the house. I looked over at Michael, still scowling slightly. He glared right back. I made a '_humph!_' noise and turned my back to him. I stalked off to one of the two trees in the old woman's front yard. I sat down next to it and started playing with Teddy. I stole a glance at Michael and saw him sitting on the front porch swing, swinging it farther than he probably should have.

'_You should probably go back home 'fore your momma gets home_,' warned Teddy.

"I know," I said quietly, but I sat there anyway. "But that nice old lady offered me cookies and lemonade. Momma never gives me good stuff."

'_That's because you don't deserve them, remember?_' replied Teddy. I frowned. He was right. Momma never hit me when I didn't do something to deserve it, and she never gave me anything nice when I didn't deserve a treat.

"You're right, Teddy. But I haven't gotten nothing for a long time, and I been good," I whispered to Teddy.

'_You must be doing something wrong. Your momma is nice when you're being good. 'Member last summer? She took you to the beach cause you were really good. But she hasn't done nothing like that for a long time. You gotta be doing somethin' wrong,_' insisted Teddy.

"Who you talkin' to?" came a voice from a few feet away. I looked up and gave Michael an angry look.

"I'm playing, now go away." He looked crestfallen.

"I really didn't mean nothin' earlier. I was just playing around, I promise." I studied him carefully, and he watched me hopefully. Finally, I sighed.

"Mean it?" I asked. He nodded eagerly.

"Okay," I said with a small smile. He grinned back. "Whatcha wanna play?"

"Uhh, tag?" he offered.

"Nah, not enough people."

"Hide-and-seek?"

"Nope."

"Cops and robbers?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Arm wrestling?"

"Nah." He fell silent for a few moments.

"I spy?" he suggested. I sighed.

"I think that's all we _can_ play with just two people," I replied. He shrugged.

"If you don't wanna -"

"Nah, it's fun." He grinned.

"You know, you're the only other kid on the street."

"Oh wow, that stinks." He nodded. "Wanna go first?"

"Nah, you first." He took a seat next to me and for some strange reason, I felt my cheeks turn a little pink. I had to admit, he was cute. As cute as a _boy_ could be, anyway. I glanced at him, then looked away with an embarrassed grin. I searched around for something to 'spy.'

"I spy with my little eye..."

3

_I finished that part of the story late last night. I actually dozed off at my desk, though my mind did not shut down one bit. Once I had started thinking, my memories started flooding back like I had broken a dam. In a way, I had. I hadn't thought of any of this for a couple years now. But my psychiatrist told me that going over these memories is good for me. I need to get over my head case sometime soon, I don't think he's coming back this time. Even if he does, I don't really need this. At least, that's what my psychiatrist keeps telling me. Whether or not I believe her is another story that I don't feel like thinking about right now._

So, now I'm sitting back in front of the typewriter. I'm going to try to write some more, but I might not get it done. Gracey has been sick today, she's got a little bit of a fever and she threw up once. Right now she's asleep on the bed with a cold washrag on her forehead. She's been whining and groaning in her sleep, but she's only woken up once.

Okay, back to the story while I can. I'm not going to bother writing about the incident. There's really not much to say. Michael snapped, and that's all there is to it. By that time, I had a really good crush on him. I was devastated when they took him away. He was my only friend. He was right, there weren't any other kids on our street. None of the kids liked me when we started school that year, either. That night was the last night I saw him. I saw his mom, too. And I saw everything else. I had nightmares about it for three years after that. I stood behind the crime scene tape, sobbing, until my momma came over and took me back home. She 'taught me a lesson' for being out so late and being in the way. She slapped me across the face so hard that I fell to the ground, then she kicked me in the gut. After that, she kicked me in the back so hard that I couldn't walk for a little while. She left me laying on the living room floor, then came in and slapped me across the face again because I didn't have her bathwater ready.

I went to bed that night right after getting her some wine. I lay in my cot, my back throbbing. I was right sore the next morning, and I was barely able to cook Momma her breakfast. I went back to bed that next morning and started crying again.

I didn't see him again for a really long time after that night. Momma didn't change any, and I really didn't either. Of course, I grew up to be a young woman. I probably would have been considered pretty if it wasn't for the fact that I was a poor kid with a mom who didn't love her. I was curvy, with a small waist and a full chest and hips. My black hair was glossy when it wasn't lank or greasy because Momma wouldn't give me enough time to take a shower. I was doe-eyed, and my eyes were a bright blue, but sometimes you really didn't notice it because Momma had given me a black eye.

I wasn't exactly a well-behaved child, either. No, wait, I take that back. I was simply an angel when I was at home. I had to be, or Momma would have to teach me a lesson. When I wasn't home, however, I wasn't exactly a good girl; which is probably what landed me in the asylum anyway.

4

I was sixteen, and a half-friend of mine by the name of Christie was twenty-one. Momma had been the one to introduce us. Christie was the daughter of one of Momma's drinking buddies. Christie was also my drinking buddy - and drinking was exactly what Christie and I were doing that night.

Christie and I were at our usual hangout; the small brick wall that was on one of the sides of the playground. Christie had bought us a six pack of beer and a pack of cigarettes. I was on my third beer and she was on her second. However, she had me beat on cigarettes. She had smoked six so far, but I was only smoking my second. I didn't really like them, but it helped calm my nerves. I had been smoking ever since I turned twelve, and it had been Christie who introduced me to them. I knew they weren't healthy, but neither, exactly, was living with Momma.

"Hey, look, it's that dumb bitch, Nicolette," I said, elbowing Christie in the ribs. She looked up from lighting a cigarette to where I was pointing. There were three people coming down the sidewalk. Two of them were girls, one being the preppy Nicolette who hated the air I breathed, and the third was the star quarter back, and Nicolette's boyfriend.

"Ew, it's _Evers_. Let's walk on the _other_ side of the road," sneered Nicolette as soon as she was within hearing distance. She and her clone laughed. I scowled and took another drag on my cigarette.

"Hey, skank, why don't you fucking say that to her face?" snarled Christie. I looked at her, wide-eyed. Sure, I found myself wishing Nicolette would get hit by a car or get dropped at cheerleading practice, but I wasn't about to pick a fight on my own. I wouldn't want to deal with any retribution that came to Momma.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" demanded Nicolette, stopping dead in her tracks. She was only about three feet away from us. Her boyfriend watched warily, knowing he'd be called on to fight his girlfriend's battle.

"I know you walk like you got a dick up your ass, but I know that ain't fucking with your hearing," Christie shot back. Even in the dim light that the streetlight cast, I could see Christie's face flush pink.

"Lenny, take out the fucking trash, would you?" she demanded. I could feel my blood boiling, but I clenched my teeth and kept quiet. Momma would beat me to death's edge if I got into any serious trouble.

Nicolette's boyfriend swaggered over to us. He lowered his voice so that his girlfriend couldn't hear him. Carefully, I slid my hand into my pocket. I had a pocket knife stowed away for any occasion that could call for it. I flipped up the blade in my pocket, but he seemed not to notice the click. "Look, if you just apologize, I won't have to hurt you."

"I'm not apologizing to that fucking slut." He sighed. All of a sudden, his hand whipped out, and he slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. Spots exploded in my vision, and everything got quieter. It sounded like everything was muffled by some huge pillow.

"Apologize!" he demanded. I could taste the iron tang of blood in my mouth. I spit a gob of bloody saliva onto his shirt. He furrowed his brows and slapped me across the face again. The edges of my vision were fuzzy now. He grabbed me by the shoulder so hard that his knuckles were turning white. My arm quickly went numb. His face swam in front of me and suddenly became my mother's.

"You fucking bitch," I muttered. My mother's face donned a confused look. "You fucking bitch! What the fuck did I ever do to you? I never misbehave, I'm your fucking slave! You just keep pushing and pushing and I'm fucking sick of it!"

"Lenny, come on, she's fucking crazy!" I heard Nicolette's voice call, from what seemed like far away. I could hear the fear in her voice, and that just made me even angrier.

"Not until the dumb cunt apologizes!" It was Lenny's voice that said it, but I could still see my mother's face floating in front of me. I shoved him hard enough to make him nearly fall, then leaped to my feet.

"_Fuck you, you fucking cunt!_" I screamed, and whipped the pocket knife from my pocket. I started stabbing blindly. Most of them missed, but I felt some connect. Finally, Christie tore me away from him. Lenny lay on the ground, groaning. His blue shirt was growing maroon in the places I had stabbed him. I was no longer drunk, I knew this. But my ears were still ringing from the blows he had dealt to my head. Christie grabbed me by the wrist and quite literally dragged me away. I finally followed her, and we ran off into the darkness.

5

Nicolette called the police, obviously. There was a long and drawn-out investigation. Lenny came out okay. I had apparently ripped some sort of nerves in his left arm and it was now basically useless. I had also ruined his football career. There were several evaluations by various different psychologists. Finally, my attorney submitted a plea of insanity. The prosecution didn't agree, but the jury did. I was sentenced to at least a year in the asylum, and I would have to stay even longer if my psychiatrist decided I should.

My last meeting with Momma hadn't gone that well, either. Of course, they knew about her abusive relationship with me. Christie brought it up in the investigation and I had confirmed it. They allowed Momma to visit me one last time in the asylum. My psychiatrist had stepped out for a moment and Momma took her chance. She beat me into unconsciousness. That's how I spent my first day in the asylum; unconscious in the infirmary, moaning and groaning in my sleep. They kept me in the infirmary for evaluations, then sent me back to my room.

My psychiatrist was there when I returned. She sat in a wooden chair, the only other furniture in the room aside from the twin-sized bed that was to be mine for the next 365 days. Her name was Faith Keys. She was only eight years older than me, and had only had her license for a total of two years. I was her third-ever patient; one of the things she eagerly told me that day. The second thing she told me was my routine: I would be woken up at 8 AM on weekdays, and I would be left to wake up whenever on weekends; breakfast was from 8:30 to 9; 10 AM was group therapy; 11 was free time; 1 PM was lunch; 2 PM was private therapy time if you were scheduled for it, if not, you were given more free time; 3 PM was more group therapy; 4PM was instruction time, because the hospital was insistent on keeping up adolescent schooling and were determined to teach any capable adults; 6 PM was dinner; 7 PM was movie time for the adolescents, if you wanted it; from 7 to 9 was free time; we had to be in our rooms by 9 and lights-out was at 10. Then the whole thing would start right over again. On weekends you could pretty much be as lazy as you wanted to, although lights-out was still in effect; this time, your lights had to be off by 12.

Seeing as it was my first day there, and the fact that it was Friday afternoon, my free time started early. It was only four, but Ms. Keys thought that I should be assimilated into the routine on a fresh day. So, she stood and offered to show me the Recreation Room. I hesitated, then shuffled along behind her. I was still out of it. My mind was hazy, and thoughts came to me slowly. I wasn't sure if I was sleepy or if the head damage Momma had inflicted me with was a little more severe than the doctor thought.

The Recreation Room was a room about the size of two of the bedrooms. There were two TVs in the room. One had a game console connected to it that was for the younger teens there. The second was connected to cable, and we each had a turn after every show to change the channel if we liked. There was one large bookcase with books on the bottom three shelves and board games on the top two.

"If you need anything, ask the nurses in the Nurse's Station. They'll be happy to help, okay?" she asked with a bright smile. I raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, sure..." She grinned again, patted me on the shoulder, and swept off to God-knows-where. I groaned and rubbed the bruise on my upper-right arm. I looked around. There were only three other people in the room. One was a guy who looked to be about 13, and who also looked to be retarded. He was sitting on the couch, the coffee table in front of him, and there was a middle-aged nurse on the other side of the table. They were playing a game that was probably intended for kindergarteners, but it seemed to be to the boy's mental capacity. The third was another guy, who looked vaguely familiar. He was abnormally tall, with light brown hair that ended at his chin. His face was turned down, and he was reading a book that seemed to be endlessly long. He sat in a wooden chair next to the window, and the angle of the sunlight cast his face into an eerie shadow.

I took a seat next to the bookcase, in an overstuffed armchair. I curled up like a cat; laying on one side, my knees to my chest, and my head resting on my arms. I watched the handicapped boy and the nurse play the board game. She seemed quite patient with him. She wore a warm smile on her face that didn't seem the least bit fake.

After only a few minutes, the position I was laying in became uncomfortable. I uncurled myself and sat up straight with a whimper. My body still blossomed with bruises, and I had a cut over my left eye where Momma had scratched me with her long nails. I folded my legs next to me and studied the room in boredom. I couldn't help but throw the reading boy periodic glances. He looked so darn familiar. The shadow stayed on his face, though, and he didn't lift his head. He seemed completely engrossed in his book. That is, until I realized he wasn't turning pages. He had to be one of the slowest readers I'd ever met, or he was faking.

"I WIN!" roared the handicapped boy, causing me to jump and nearly slide out of the chair.

"Inside voice, Jeremy," reminded the nurse in a patient, motherly voice. I heard a familiar snicker from beside me and I looked at the reading boy again. His face was tilted up more and I could see his features better. My brows furrowed. I _knew_ him from somewhere, but _where_? His features were finely chiseled, with a strong jaw and slightly heavy brow. His eyes were so dark, almost black. In fact, they might have been - I wasn't sure. The little smile playing on his lips and that snicker were _so_ familiar.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked. His voice was deep and rough. It wasn't raspy, but it resonated in the air all the same. I tilted my head slightly. "Your name is Kim, I remember that much." My brows furrowed again. This was so frustrating!

"Ugh, just tell me!" I demanded. He gave another laugh.

"Want a hint? Think back to Lampkin Lane, and Mrs. Blankenship." My eyes widened. I was surprised my jaw didn't drop. It couldn't be – could it?

"Michael? Michael Myers?" He grinned. My mouth did drop open that time. "No way. Are you serious? Like, totally serious?" My heart pounded wildly and my head spun drunkenly. So many memories were flooding back at once, and so was that feeling of my little girl crush on him. "But how – why – what are you – I just don't know!" He shook his head. He sat the book on the windowsill and leaned forward slightly. I turned around sideways in the chair and grabbed onto the armrest. "Oh my gosh, it's been forever. But... why are you here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied. His dark and probing eyes roamed my appearance slowly, as if trying to make that little girl in his head change into the 16-year-old that sat in front of him. "It looks like your mother hasn't changed any."

I bit my bottom lip. "You really expected her to?" His dark eyes met mine and I held his gaze for a moment, before looking away. From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head.

"I guess not... Still, why are you here?" he persisted. I hesitated, biting my lower lip once more. Finally, I plunged ahead with the story. He was silent, and his eyes never left my face. He seemed to be absorbing every word and pause and change in tone of my story, as though filing it away for future reference. When I finished, he was silent for several long moments. I still couldn't look him directly in the eye, so I settled with roaming his face. "I guess I'm not much of a good influence am I?" I burst into a fit of hysterical giggles at that. I was at my wit's end once more, and this was only the second day in a row, not counting the day in-between that I had been unconscious.

"Kim. Kimberly!" I looked around at the full use of my name, tears streaming from my eyes. For a moment, the face in my vision swam in front of me and I saw Momma's face. My laughter immediately stopped, and my eyes widened with fear. I wiped away the tears of laughter and the face changed. It wasn't my mother, but the patient nurse who had been playing a board game with the handicapped boy. Her face was twisted with concern, and her lips were a thin, white line. "Kim, you should come with me. I don't think..." Her voice trailed away. I untangled myself from the chair. With a backward glance at Michael, whose dark eyes held a shadow that hadn't been there before, I followed the nurse out of the room.

6

_I frequently joke around that I am psychic; my "prediction" from two nights ago was correct. I stayed up all night, sifting through my memories and writing down what I thought was important. I ended up taking Gracey to the E.R. in the early AM hours of yesterday morning. We finally found out that she has strep throat. They gave her a shot and some tiny pills for her to take – four a day. They say she'll still be miserable for another two days, and she'll be out of school for another two days after that. It hurts me to see her so miserable, but there's nothing I can do, aside from ensuring that she takes her medicine._

I finally passed out for about three hours next to her, but she woke me up for a glass of water. I spent the rest of the day tending to her and consuming caffeine to keep me awake. The typewriter seemed to loom with an increasingly foreboding air, but I forced myself to ignore it; at least until tonight. I am now sitting in front of it, staring at the few pages I already have typed. Gracey has been sleeping soundly in the nights, contrary to her daytime slumber.

So, I read over my last few paragraphs. I'm not completely sure where to pick up. There's no point in telling you about my year at the institution. It was a routine that repeated each of the 365 days I stayed there. Michael and I were allowed to grow closer than I had expected. Apparently, I was the only one he would talk to. Talking was the only thing we did, too. It was endless; about anything and everything that was major and specific. He was rather guarded about his own life, but dissected every aspect of mine. I was requested to recount everything I remembered that came before the day I met him, and everything that happened after he had been taken away.

I fell madly, head-over heels in love with him. It wasn't the puppy love or crush it had been before when I was a little girl. I didn't giggle or get all red-faced when I saw him, and I didn't feel the need to doodle his name on papers and whatnot. It was that serious love, that kind where you know in your heart you wouldn't mind seeing the person day-in and day-out for the rest of your life. I didn't love him because I needed him, I needed him because I loved him.

In the back of my mind, I knew I shouldn't let myself get this close. There was nothing to be expected from any of this. There was no future "us." I would leave at the end of my year-long stint and he would be forced to stay they for many more years, possibly forever, for all I knew. I knew that all this would end in would be heartbreak. But I couldn't keep myself away, although I don't think I really tried. My heart didn't want me to.

The day for my release was exactly as expected. My evaluations were sent in to the judge and he accepted Ms. Keys' recommendation that I be released. He signed the paper and my release date was set.

That day was as heartbreaking as I knew deep-down it would be...

7

I was given complete free time that day, the same as when I was brought to Smith's Grove. I slept most of the time, but during my last fifteen minutes, I sought the consolation of the one man I wanted it from. I found him in the Recreation Room, bent over a book in his reading act. He kept up this act for God-knows how long to keep others from disturbing his isolation. I sat down next to him, folding my legs to the side. He looked up from the book, a sad smile on his lips. My heart thudded dully, pain twisting at it.

"It sounds crazy but... I'm going to miss this," I said quietly, not quite meeting his piercing gaze. I gave a humorless laugh. "I'm going to miss you." My voice was even quieter, barely above a whisper. He said nothing, and made no move. There was a nurse sitting in the corner with a magazine in hand. It was the 70s and no one really gave a damn about the security of the "nuts" in institutions; she was only there to make it look good. "I don't want to say goodbye." I could feel angry tears stabbing at the back of my eyes, and I tried my best to hold them back. I could feel my heart tearing, not in quickly in two, but slowly, methodically, into jagged, tiny pieces. The intercom above our heads buzzed for a moment.

"Haycomb to the nurse's center, Haycomb to the nurse's center," droned the nasally voice. The nurse in the corner looked up from the magazine and over to us. Her eyes questioned me, and I gave a slow nod. She gave a small smile and left the room. I had become Michael's keeper, and I was okay with that.

"It doesn't have to be forever, you know," he offered, his deep baritone voice soft with concern. I looked at his face hopefully.

"Why? Have you heard something about releasing you?"

"No," he replied, with a frown. Something flitted in his dark eyes, but it was gone before I could really tell what it was. "They can't keep me locked up forever, though."

"You don't know that," I persisted. He sighed. His hand moved from his book, pausing just over it, before he reached out to brush my hair from my face. His hand trembled slightly. The only intimate touch we had experienced was a simple brush of the hand. This was definitely new territory. The touch caused more pain than it did comfort, and I could feel the tears welling up quickly. I furiously wiped my eyes with my knuckles. I stared at him long and hard. My voice lowered to a murmur and I was shocked at what I spoke next. "I love you."

There was no change of emotion on his face, no recognition of what I had just admitted; I could have easily had just told him that the grass was green and gotten the same reaction. But his face moved closer to mine and my eyes widened in slight panic. His eyes had locked mine into a hypnotic gaze, one that reminded me of a bird unable to look away from a poised cobra. Then, he kissed me.

It was amazing. It wasn't anything complicated – there were no parted lips, no tongues touching. It was a simple kiss, just lips pressed against each other. But oh god, it was simply wonderful. It was more amazing than I had ever imagined, more fantastic than I ever could have expected. The kiss said more than words could have, it seemed to seal everything into place, but tear it all to shreds at the same time. It told me that he wanted me the same way I wanted him, but reminded me that the future was an impossibility, and that anything between us would not develop past this day.

Suddenly, I wanted him – not just emotionally, but physically, too. Crazy scenarios played out in my head in a matter of seconds. This would be my last chance, my only chance. Was I really going to leave it at such a simple ending? _Could_ I? Of course, these thoughts were shoved away as quickly as they surfaced. I might have been a little mentally unstable, but I wasn't stupid. Finding two mental patients in any kind of physical contact would be a scandal the size of epic proportions, and I didn't even want to think of any sort of reprimands that might come afterward.

So, I tore my heart a little bit more. I flung my arms around him and hugged him tight. I could feel the tension of surprise in his shoulders but I couldn't have cared less. I wanted him so badly, I needed him, and I loved him. That last fact I was sure of. Nothing could replace this; somehow, I knew. My voice cracked as I spoke the words again, "I love you. I'm sorry – I love you." What I was sorry for, I wasn't exactly sure, but I felt a horrible guilt welling inside me. Slowly, ever so slowly, I felt his arms slide around my frame and he held me. I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I knew this was it, it was the end, it was over, and that was that.

"I love you too." The words were so quiet I could barely hear them. My heart and breath stopped at once. I closed my eyes and hugged him tighter to me. For a crazy moment I thought that maybe, if I held on tight enough, they couldn't make me leave him. Of course, that was more nonsense.

I pulled away from him and stared into those dark eyes that were usually so devoid of emotion. I could see it, but just barely. I could see the sincerity.

"Miss Evers," came a soft voice from the doorway. I looked around and saw the gentle nurse from my first conscious day at the institution. I wondered how long she had been there, and how much of it she had seen. If she had seen anything, she didn't utter a word about it. "It's time to go, dear." I gave Michael one last look of despair and stood. He watched me go, his eyes and face that slate of utter lack of emotion. I gave one last glance over my shoulder, then followed the nurse out of the room.

8

_I suppose you think that's where my story ends. For the next four years, I thought so too._

I left the institution with a bag containing my medications and a plastic bag with enough clothes to cover me for only a week. I wouldn't be going back to Momma. I had been taken into foster care by an older couple; Darcy and Hector Elridge. Darcy was 50 and Hector was 54. What in their minds made them want to foster a teenager, especially one as fucked-up as I had been, is something I still don't know.

The ride to the Elridge household was an hour long. I was silent in the back seat of their SUV, hugging my knees to my chest. Hector drove and Darcy attempted small talk, but to no avail. I was scared shitless, in all honesty. I was suddenly going home not with just one 'momma,' but with two. I was sure that they were both just as bad as Momma. I could barely deal with one, let alone two.

Their house was nice and stately. It was two stories; four bedrooms and three bathrooms. And a basement. I shuffled into the house and looked around. The inside was just as prim and proper as the outside. They weren't rich, but it was obvious that they were rather well-to-do.

9

"Where are the stairs to the basement?" I asked quietly. Hector and Darcy glanced at each other.

"Well, it's down the hall, the third door on the left..." said Hector. I nodded and walked through them, looking straight ahead.

"Kimberly, dear, where are you going? You don't have to sleep in the basement anymore – we have a room all ready for you upstairs," Darcy called softly. I turned and looked at her in confusion. "Come on, dear, follow me." Hector took my bag with my medication and walked into another room. Darcy turned the hallway to the left and then into the second room on the right.

The room was average-sized, but monstrous compared to what I was use to. I had not been moved from the tiny basement and the battered cot at my house that I had stayed in for the eight years I had lived in that house. The walls were cream, and trimmed around the top with a leaf print. There was a bed in the upper left-hand corner that was queen sized, and adorned with a dark green cover and crisp, white sheets. There was an ebony dresser in the lower left-hand corner of the room. Next to the bed was a night-stand with a light on it. Against the right wall was a bookcase that was mostly empty. There were two doors in the room; one was open, one was not. The opened door showed a bathroom. The other turned out to be a closet door.

"We don't really have anything in here right now," explained Darcy, her voice anxious. "We can go this weekend to get you more clothes and some books to put in the bookcase. The nurses told us you like to read. Your mother... well, there wasn't a lot that survived her. Do you like it?"

I gave her a smile that I was sure didn't reach my eyes. "It's beautiful." I slowly walked over to the bed and sat down, laying my plastic bag of clothes next to me.

"Oh, I have something for you..." Darcy shuffled over to the closet and bent over inside. She closed the door and turned to me, hands behind her back. I scooted back onto the bed until my back was pressed against the wall. Whatever was behind her back, I was certain that it wasn't anything good. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean – here." She brought her hands from behind her back. It was Teddy.

My eyes widened, and for a moment, I didn't move. Then, I leaped from the bed and bounded over to Darcy. I studied her face for a moment, then gently took Teddy from her aged hands. I clung to him, burying my face in his fur. He was in almost in the same condition that I had left him in. There were stitches around his neck, however. I could guess that it was Momma's doing. I looked up at Darcy after a moment.

"Thank you," I said quietly, and the smile on my face was real this time. She smiled back, looking simply elated.

"I heard you were really attached to that bear, so I had to get him for you. He'd been through your mother's rage as well, but I fixed him the best I could," she explained. I nodded. There was a long, awkward silence.

"Where's the kitchen? It's getting late, and I should be starting on dinner," I said in a rush, cringing backward from her. Her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Sweetie, you don't have to fix dinner. I do that around here," she explained.

"Um, okay, what about bath water?" The confusion on her face deepened.

"No, we do that ourselves too."

"Wine before bed?" She shook her head.

"Hector and I aren't really drinkers, and if we were, we'd get it ourselves." My face probably looked as confused as hers did.

"Okay... So... what do I do?" I asked.

"Well, you can do chores for allowance. What are you good at?" she asked.

"Um, well, I did the laundry, and cooked, and cleaned, and did grocery shopping, and ran Momma's bathwater, and called for appointments and repairmen, and -"

"Goodness! You won't have to do all of that!" I tilted my head slightly. "Let's see... If you do the dishes, the laundry, and keep your room clean, you can have ten dollars every Friday. Sound good?"

"Sure..?" She smiled.

"Glad we figured that out. Well, I'll let you get settled. We usually have dinner at six but it will be a little late, probably around seven tonight. Explore the house at your will," she said. She hesitated, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation that I had heard her. After a moment, I nodded. She then left. I moved back to the bed and curled up on it, hugging Teddy to me. For a few minutes, I was ably to distract my mind with the overwhelming anxiety that the new surroundings gave me.

Then my mind started to wander. I was trying to develop some sort of routine in my mind. I had lived my life in routine, though against my will. Momma had me kept in a routine that revolved around serving her. The institution had kept me in a routine. It might have been different from Momma's routine, but it was a routine nonetheless.

And, of course, the next thing my mind fell on was obvious. I thought about those few minutes before leaving Smith's Grove that had felt like an eternity. I closed my eyes and I could feel his arms around me, I could feel his lips against mine. It hurt so bad. I could feel my heart ripping itself apart even further. I wondered how long it would be before the pieces would be no bigger than a grain of sand. I felt simply like I was dying. I curled in tighter onto myself. My breath hitched painfully in sobs and the tears burst forth from under my closed eyelids. I slowly rocked myself, my brain paralyzed in the pain. My first heartbreak would, undoubtedly, be the most painful. I had a feeling that it could quite possibly be my last heartbreak.

10

_So, today is my first day back at my house since I finished writing that last part. Yesterday didn't go so well. My mind has become more malleable and more susceptible to my anger. My psychiatrist has been pressing the subject of Momma on me for the past few days. In the short version, I snapped and attacked her. A couple nurses came in and sedated me, and I got to spend the night at the institution. Of course, Gracey had no idea as to what was going on. I took her to a friend's house to stay the night and she is none the wiser._

Now I've got court scheduled for the 18th of November. My psychiatrist doesn't want to press charges, however, she is forced to inform the court of any violence I portray, thanks to the conditions on which I was released on back when I was seventeen.

These memories are giving me both nightmares and dreams. It seems like at least every other night I wake up in a cold sweat. Most of the nightmares I can't remember. That I'm thankful for. Gracey has only noticed this once, and it scared her. I almost want to quit writing, but the damage has already been done. I might as well finish the job.

So, where to continue? I won't bother with writing about my year at Darcy and Hector's. Sure, they were sweet, b ut I didn't really change. I was still anxious and paranoid, scared at the simplest of sounds or movements. Hell, I'm still a little like that today. I guess those memories are ingrained in my brain forever.

I suppose the best place to start is on a night four years after my release. I lived in an apartment then. It was very simple, but a little bigger than the one I have now. I got that apartment through a program for the mentally ill. I was woken up at one A.M. by the phone.

11

I woke up out of a restless sleep with a small scream. I had been having a nightmare, that much I knew. But the details were already gone. The phone gave another shrill screech and I jumped. I reached over to my night-stand, fumbled for the receiver, then put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I mumbled into the phone.

"Hey," came a low, deep voice from the other end of the phone. My heart stopped and my sleepiness was gone. That voice...

"Who is this?" My heart kicked back on, into overdrive. I could hear it pounding in my ear.

"Michael, of course," replied the voice. I clutched onto my blankets, my knuckles turning white.

"Oh, hey," I managed. "Wh-what can I do for you?" I winced. I hated how stupid the question was.

"Listen, I need a place to stay. Do you have free space?" he asked.

"If you don't mind sleeping on the couch."

"Nope." I gave him the address to my apartment. There was a pause. "I'll be there in probably ten minutes." He hung up without another word. My heart was still nestled in my ear drums. I pulled back the covers and swung my legs over the side of my bed. I stood and walked over to my dresser, peering into the mirror. I wrinkled my nose. I had on an oversized t-shirt that hid my shorts. I wanted to change into something, but I wasn't sure what. Getting all dressed up just to answer the door was idiotic, but I wanted to look good when he saw me.

I opened my drawers and began to search through them. I bypassed my shorts and oversized t-shirts. I hesitated on a lewd tanktop, but decided that would be too much. I opened my nightgown drawer and the answer lay on the top of the folded gowns. It was a black nightgown with spaghetti straps and a built-in bra, and it ended mid-thigh. I closed the door and stripped out of my nightclothes. I glanced at my body with a grimace before slipping on the nightgown.

I rushed out of the bedroom and into the living room, comb in hand. I flopped onto the couch. I combed my hair frantically, ripping through the tangles. My head was lightly throbbing by the time I was done, but I didn't care. At least my hair wasn't sticking up in funky angles.

Moments later, I heard footsteps echoing in the hallway. There was a soft knocking on my door. A lump formed in my throat. Somewhere along the line the signal from my brain to my legs was lost, so I couldn't stand. I swallowed, trying my best to rid myself of the lump in my throat, and called out instead.

"Come in."

The door opened and my heart froze. This left me finally able to hear clearly again. It was Michael all right, but he was _huge_. My guess was that he towered somewhere around six feet and eight inches, but he could have easily topped that. My eyes widened, but somehow my legs remembered how to walk. I stood and moved over to him, my mind somewhat hazy. I stopped about a foot away and had to tilt my head back to look up at him. That familiar little smirk was playing on his lips again.

"Holy shit. You turned into the Jolly Green Giant." I had said the only thing that would come to my mind. His smirk turned into a grin.

"Oh, you think so, huh? Well, I guess I'll have to choose my damsel in distress now, won't I?" With that, he bent down and grabbed me around the waist. I squealed as I soared into the air. He flung me over his shoulder so that my torso hung halfway down his back. My face blushed red as I realized he could easily have a full view of my underwear.

"Put me down!" I yelled. I could feel his shoulders shake with laughter. "I'm serious, Michael, put me down! I don't like this!"

"_Hey, shut up up there_!" roared a muffled voice. A pounding noise came from somewhere in front of us. "Some of us have to get up early!" I gave an uncharacteristic giggle. The person who lived in the apartment downstairs was an older man of about fifty who classically hated everyone young enough to be his grandchildren.

I felt Michael begin to walk. Instead of squirming, I clutched onto the back of the navy blue jumpsuit he was wearing. I was terrified watching the ground below my face change from the white carpet of my living room to the blue of my bedroom. I squealed as he flopped me down onto my bed. I lay there, legs crossed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. I felt the bed shift as he sat down next to me.

Finally, I sat up. He was watching me, and I could see the corners of his mouth turned up as he tried to hide his smile. I smacked him on the shoulder. The sound resonated through the silent room but he didn't even flinch.

"Asshole, you know I'm afraid of heights," I snapped.

"I was only playing." I rolled my eyes. It hadn't been the first time he'd used that line, and I was pretty certain that it wasn't going to be the last. He left me in silence as I calmed. Finally, I reached out and placed my hand on his cheek.

"I can't believe it's really you. I didn't think I would ever see you again," I said quietly. He reached up and placed his rough hand over mine.

"I told you that it wouldn't be forever." I nodded slowly. My eyes roamed his face carefully, and then fell on his hand. There was a smear of dried blood on it. Whether or not he noticed my gaze, he said nothing. I wish I could say that it frightened me, but I would be lying. In all honesty, it excited me. I bit my lower lip and studied the rest of him. There were small flecks of blood on his clothes, small enough to only be noticed when you knew what you were searching for. But they were there nevertheless.

I met his dark eyes once more. He had been watching me as I took in his appearance. I wondered if he was worried about whether or not I noticed the blood. I held his gaze for the longest time – something I hadn't even been able to do when we were still teenagers. I wanted to believe that nothing had changed, that nothing _could_ have changed. But it had been four years; for all I knew he only viewed me as a sister or friend now.

As if to answer my questions, he kissed me. It was much more than our first kiss. This was more wanting, more lustful. Our lips parted and he knotted his fingers in my hair so that I couldn't pull away. It was forceful, and I was in no way going to stop it. Later my psychiatrist would tell me that the blood excited me because it represented power; the ultimate power, for he had been playing God. Right then, though, all I knew was that it turned me on and I wanted him, bad.

Now another new Michael took over. I had known two sides of him. One was the Michael he showed to everyone else; the one that was a cold-blooded, heartless killer. The other was who he was around me. He still might have been rough, but he cared, and I knew that. Now it was like the two sides had converged. He wanted me, but not only that, he wanted to be rough. That, however, was not something I was into.

His hand slid from my hair and he grabbed me around the waist, still kissing me. He forced me onto his lap and kissed me harder still. I wasn't sure what to think, or if this was even what I wanted. But his touches told me that this was how it was going to happen, whether or not I liked it. He wasted no time in grabbing my sensitive areas; he grabbed my breast hard enough to make me cry out in pain. This just seemed to encourage him. He half-forced me out of the nightgown, ripping one of the straps in the process. Now I was in nothing but my underwear. With his strength, pushing me onto the bed was like controlling a rag doll. My chest rose and fell quickly with fear. I was no longer sure if I even wanted him anymore. I didn't like this pain, or the latest of Michael's personalities. My opinion didn't seem to matter to him though. He was quickly stripped down to his boxers, and resumed his kissing and rough explorations. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable, a part of my mind shaking with fear.

Three hours later, I lay silently in his arms. His deep breathing made me think he was asleep. I lay staring at the wall, confused. Sure, I'd enjoyed it, but I had seen another side of Michael, which meant his bad sides outnumbered the good man I knew he could be. Aside from that, I was the only person who he had turned his domineering nature upon. Well, the only one he had _used_ it on. After all, most people were frightened of him by nature.

I heard the sounds of bed springs creak and felt the weight on the other side of the bed lift. I rolled onto my back and propped myself up on my elbow, clinging to the covers. I watched him with furrowed brows as he dressed.

"_What_ are you doing, Michael?" He gave me a glance but that was it.

"There's some... unfinished business... I need to take care of," he said slowly, picking his words carefully. My brows furrowed.

"Michael, don't you _dare_." He said nothing, only buttoned the top buttons on the jumpsuit. "Michael, I saw the news reports. I let you stay here because I care. Don't do this!" He ignored me, and now slid his feet into the combat boots that lay in the corner of the room. I hesitated, still gripping the covers, but stood anyway. I seized his sleeve and pulled at him with all of my force. Of course, this really did nothing, but it still got his attention. He looked down at me, seeming to study me for a long moment. I tried not to blush under his gaze; that would not make my facade any more convincing.

He finally put his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes for another long moment with that piercing and hypnotic gaze. Finally, he gently forced me back to the bed. He forced me to sit, and put pressure on my shoulders when I tried to stand.

"Look, there are things..." His sentence fell short. "Kim, I can't explain it. I just – I just _have_ to do this." I could see the inner struggle in his eyes, and I knew the part of him that loved me was fighting with the part of him that was this cold-blooded murderer.

"Michael, don't do this. If you love me, don't do this." I knew that this wasn't fair, but he wasn't exactly playing fair either.

"Kim, don't pull that bullshit. It's not funny, and you know it." I could see that one side was winning, but I couldn't tell which one.

"Oh, and what the fuck am I suppose to do?" I demanded, letting my anger get away with me for once. "You're acting like a selfish little asshole. How the hell do you think I feel? Hell, Michael, they're out for your blood! But no, you don't give a fuck about how I feel, it's just about what _you_ want." Before either of us really knew what was happening, a dull thud resonated through the room. Black spots erupted in my vision and the entire left side of my head was numb. Once more, sounds came through my eardrums as though everything was covered by a thick blanket. My jaw screamed in pain, and I could feel the iron tang of blood in my mouth. I looked at him in hurt confusion as the edges of my vision began to blur. He looked at my hurt face with blank eyes, as though he recognized neither me nor himself. I tried hard to retain consciousness, but things quickly went black.

12

Things came back to me in the way they had gone. The sounds around me seemed muffled as they had before. I opened my eyes and things were dark and blurry. After blinking several times, the blurriness went away but the darkness didn't. I pushed myself into a sitting position and the cover fell away. I wasn't naked anymore, and I wasn't in the nightgown I had greeted Michael in, either. I wore tanktop and a pair of shorts. My jaw screamed in pain, and my left cheek and part of the left side of my lips felt slightly swollen. My right ear could hear everything clearly now, but my left ear had a continuous low ringing. My left eye also felt like it was a little swollen; I guessed that I had a black eye.

I looked around in confusion. The walls were a light blue and the floor was white tile. I saw a tube running from my hand and up to an IV drip. I looked up at the TV that was on in the corner, with the volume turned down low. It was a news reporter, and I knew that he was reporting the recent murders. That's when I realized where I was.

I ripped the IV from my hand with a small cry of pain. I swung my legs over the side of the hospital bed and stood. I swayed drunkenly, and suddenly my mind felt heavy. I put a hand on the good side of my head and grabbed onto the bed railing. I stumbled drunkenly forward and headed for the doorway. I staggered through the hallway, then finally came upon the nurse's station. There was a middle-aged, heavyset, black woman behind the desk. She looked up at me with surprise as I lurched toward the desk. I latched onto it and leaned against the counter, trying my damnedest to stay upright. I looked at her with bleary eyes as she hurried around the desks and came out of the station.

"Dear, what in the world are you doing out here?" she demanded.

"Laurie... need... find... find..." my words were slurred and barely understandable, and I could see in her face that she didn't comprehend. I began to mumble incoherently, unable to remember what I wanted to say or how to say it. I just knew what I needed to do.

"Come here, sweetie, let me help you back to your room." I saw a familiar shadow lurking and my eyes widened. I let out a scream and backed away, falling onto the floor. "Goodness, dear, you need to go back to bed! You have a lot of morphine in you, you're not even suppose to be awake right now."

I continued to mumble gibberish as the shadow approached us. I pushed myself backward with my legs until I hit the wall. I closed my eyes and looked away, but the sounds couldn't be blocked out. I heard her screams over the ringing. Minutes later, I let out a drunken squeal as I felt myself being lifted into the air.

Michael didn't sling me over his shoulder as he had when we were joking around in my apartment. He held me bridal style. I hesitated, looking up at him. I knew that mask – it wasn't the first time I'd seen it. I could see his dark eyes, but they weren't on me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against his chest. My body went limp, and I had a feeling that I was going to fall asleep. My drugged-up and tired mind chugged as I tried to remember what my purpose had been when I climbed out of bed in the first place. I couldn't quite grasp it.

Finally, I could feel myself being lowered. I opened my eyes halfway and looked up with bleary eyes. He laid me in the hospital bed and then pulled the cover and sheet over my body. I groped the air blindly for his hand, and he took mine gently, his fingers interlaced with mine. I looked up at his ebony brown eyes and I could see that same caring look in his eyes that I had seen that day we had our first kiss. I closed my eyes and my hand went limp in his. I was out in less than a minute.

I wasn't awoken by the sound of the explosion, or the sound of the fire alarm, and not even the sprinklers as they slowly soaked me with water. I was awoken by a fireman who had come with others to evacuate the patients that could be safely moved.

"Ma'am, miss!" I opened my bleary eyes and let out a small scream as a rugged face swam into my vision. "Shh, calm down. Look, there's a big fire and we've got to evacuate all the people we can. Can you walk?"

I nodded. He gave me a gentle smile and helped me out of the bed. I followed him out into the hallway, where a small group of about six other people waited with a second fireman. They were both completely suited up, and the one in the hallway had a little ash smeared on his face. He gave me a weary smile and then led the way out of the hospital. The going was slow, which I was extremely thankful for. I still stumbled while I walked, and my mind still felt hazy. More than once one of the firemen were forced to grab me by the arm as I tumbled toward the ground.

I was mumbling incoherently again by the time we were outside. I was starting to remember what I was wanting to say and how to say it. My words were becoming sentences that made some sense. I stumbled outside and sat right down on the ground in the parking lot. The lot was brimming with emergency vehicles and a few news cars that had managed to sneak into the action. The fireman who had helped me from my bed offered his hand to help me up. I stared at it for a moment, considering refusal. Finally, I took it. He pulled me to my feet.

"Where's Michael?" I demanded, forcing myself to talk. He looked at me in confusion. "Michael. Where – where is- is Michael?" I felt like I was a little kid again, unable to form simple sentences.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I wondered if I was actually speaking correctly or if I only was in my mind.

"Michael. Where is he?" I repeated.

"How do you...?"

"I know him. He's my... I know him." I saw the ambulance that he gave a prolonged glance.

"Look, miss, I don't think you need to see it. It's pretty gruesome." I nodded slowly and he watched me for a moment longer, before walking off. I took off at a stumbling run, falling onto my hands and knees once before I made it within close proximity of the ambulance. A cop intercepted me, grabbing me around the shoulders. I nearly fell face first into the asphalt.

"Keep away from that ambulance, damnit! You can't go near it – that fucking psycho is there," yelled the cop into my bad ear.

"He's not a psycho!" I screamed, my eyes wide with horror and locked on the sight. It was a body covered with burns. The jumpsuit was black and charred with several burn holes. The mask was melted in several places, and the majority of its hair was burned off. Those dark brown eyes I knew so well were closed.


End file.
